


In This House We Love Like Warriors

by nyoka



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Bottom Keith (Voltron), Domestic Fluff, Established Keith/Shiro (Voltron), Fluff and Smut, Future Fic, M/M, Married Couple, Parents Keith/Shiro (Voltron), Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-13
Updated: 2018-12-13
Packaged: 2019-09-17 05:41:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16968720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nyoka/pseuds/nyoka
Summary: Shiro is so careful as he takes their daughter; he’s become an expert at cupping the baby into the elbow-seat of his left arm. He rests his right prosthetic hand on Keith’s shoulder blade, massaging his cool fingers into the tight muscles there. “I’ll work on putting you to bed next,” Shiro tells Keith with a soft smile before moving over to lower their sleeping girl back into the crib.Or:Shiro and Keith built a home, then built a family. PWP.





	In This House We Love Like Warriors

**Author's Note:**

> Please enjoy some soft boys and domestic PWP to bring in S8! May Sheith live on happily ever after together. <3

 

. . .

 

It’s early morning when thunder wakes Keith from a light sleep. The heavy downpour outside is loud enough to shake the joints and old boards of the house. Keith pushes his face into Shiro’s neck, floating in the soft, electric energy of the storm, inhaling the lighting scent of his husband. It had rained all throughout the night, water beating a steady rhythm against the eaves of the roof.

Hearing a soft cry, Keith blinks his eyes open, suddenly alert. He shifts his legs under the blanket covering his body, and turns to look at the baby’s video monitor at their bedside. Their daughter is moving in her crib, probably woken by the storm, but she’s not bawling, and Keith breathes in a sigh of relief at that. He and Shiro usually take turns checking in on her during the night, changing her or offering her a bottle if she gets too cranky. But the last two weeks she’s been doing well, mostly sleeping soundly through the night. 

Keith doesn’t want to wake up Shiro, since he’s finally fallen into a deep sleep again, snoring soft puffs of air into his pillow. Keith looks down at him, taken in by his sleep-softened jawline, the way his eyes flutter under his eyelids as he dreams. Keith leans up to kiss Shiro’s forehead before sliding carefully out of his arms, silently cursing their creaking, old mattress as he swings his legs over the edge of the bed to climb out. 

The cool wood floor presses into his bare feet as he stands and stretches his sleepy limbs. He blinks out into the darkness of the bedroom he shares with Shiro, looking around at the shadowed shapes inhabiting the space. There’s barely any light coming in through their high windows, the moon blotted out by the dense cloud cover, but he’s able to navigate their bedroom with expertise anyhow, heading to the dresser and getting out a t-shirt to pull over his bare chest. He listens intently as thunder rumbles somewhere off in the distance, lightning streaking across their bedroom window.

Shuffling quickly down the hallway, he walks past the wall of family photographs Shiro had so painstakingly arranged after they’d repainted the upstairs — old pictures of a younger Shiro with his grandfather, pictures of Keith with Krolia, group shots of the Voltron team alongside some of their colleagues from the Garrison. Nicely framed black-and-white shots from their wedding day and Olkarion honeymoon sit framed on the console table. 

They’d spent eight weeks renovating the old house, and the wood floors are smooth, worn with age but restored beautifully, and they are whisper soft beneath Keith’s feet as he heads toward the baby’s room at the end of the hall. The house is quiet and dark in this hour before dawn, and the only light in the nursery comes from the small hippo-shaped nightlight in the wall, and the soft glow from the stars glued on the ceiling in a pattern that matches the actual constellations (this was Keith’s genius contribution to house decor, thank you very much). 

Carefully chosen for their daughter, the nursery is actually the largest of the home’s four bedrooms. The room, whose walls are painted a soft lavender, sits on the side of the house that doesn’t receive any direct light from the noonday desert sun, which means it stays cooler during their all-too-warm summers. Its windows also face out to the vegetable garden, and during the day one can see the high mountains cutting a beautiful line across the sky. 

Another sudden bolt of lightning brightens the nursery, and Keith hurriedly creeps toward the small crib to find his baby girl wide awake, gurgling at the storm beyond.

“Heya, pumpkin,” Keith coos as he leans over the top bar of the crib and watches her kick out her little legs, wrapped in her spaceship-covered onesie. “Storm wake you up huh? Me too. Not your papa though, he’s still out. You wore him out this week real good.”

Outside, the rain continues to pelt softly against the window. Inside his baby girl makes a noise that sounds like ‘da’ but could also be a variety of any of her recent attempts at wordage, including ‘ba’ and ‘ka’ and ‘ _ga_.’ Seeing her daddy now though, her face crinkles up adorably, and she lets out a sort of gurgle-whimper, squirming and reaching up to him with chubby fingers. _Da_ , she says again. _Da_.

Keith huffs out a laugh and reaches down, curls his arms under her armpit to carefully pick her up. She doesn’t weigh that much, but Keith wobbles backward a little as she hops excitedly in his arms. He brings her to his chest, and she’s so warm and alive against him. He presses a kiss to the purple fluff on the top of her head. He walks them over to the rocking chair, and then he curls her down into the crook of his arm so he can look at her face as he settles down in the seat.

They’d adopted her from a local orphanage six months ago. Even years after the war, babies with any alien lineage are still so rarely adopted by humans here on Earth, and Keith knows too well what being stuck in the foster care system — especially if you’re _different_ — could mean to a kid. So when they’d visited the orphanage, well, her shy little smiles had stolen both his and Shiro’s hearts. 

“It’s okay, I got you,” Keith whispers now as she starts to sniffle, which could be an early warning sign of an impending cry or epic wail. He rocks her against his chest, making a _Shhhh Shhh Shh_ sound in her ear. She’s not wet, he'd checked - and Shiro had changed her and had given her a bottle during her last scheduled feeding two hours ago, and Keith knows she’s not due for another until about 7 a.m. She lets out another soft whine, and Keith gently purrs against her cheek, a soft breathy vibration the orphanage workers had told him a lot of Galran babies respond well to.

It does seem to do the trick, quieting her as she settles in Keith’s arms. Keith keeps purring, and the soft rumble from his chest feels good, natural, and he wonders if maybe his instinctive Galran parenting genetics are finally kicking in. Keith settles deeper into the rocker, shifting his daughter until he’s relatively sure they’re both comfortable.

After a while his purrs turn into hums, and he doesn’t know what song it is that’s in his head, but he remembers Krolia humming it to him in the visions he saw of her with him as a baby during their time in the Quantum Abyss. Shiro’s usually the singer of the two of them — somehow in the last six months he’s learned about a dozen different nursery rhymes, and there are plenty of nights when Keith has stumbled out of bed to find Shiro rocking and singing their little girl back to sleep.

Keith reaches his free hand down to run along the soft purple-grey fur on her forehead. He leans down and kisses her there, and when he pulls away she’s starring up at him — her eyes are bright, like two yellow moons in the dark of the nursery. 

Keith never imagined this as a possibility — never could have envisioned the home and family he’s been creating with Shiro these last few years. The war is long over, the world (and universe) is safer because of what they sacrificed — and their intergalactic coalition is busy rebuilding, reconnecting, and helping worlds. And Keith’s married to Shiro, living in the home they built for their future together. 

Some days it’s surreal. The two of them are a couple of semi-retired soldiers, making a life for themselves both in the stars and here on Earth. They wouldn’t give up space or their family, and they’ve figured out a way to make both work together. Keith’s not saying it’s been easy, but every moment feels worth it. Keith closes his eyes, holds his baby girl close and hums to her, feeling something settle in his chest, click into place.

Keith doesn’t know how much time passes, but eventually he opens his eyes when a warm and fuzzy blanket is placed over his arms. He looks up to find Shiro tucking the blanket around him and the baby. “Hey, babe,” Keith whispers to him, voice sleep-groggy.

“Hey, sleepy husband of mine,” Shiro says, smiling down indulgently. “You two look comfortable.” 

Keith hums, looking down at the now sleeping baby in his arms and then back up at Shiro, who is dressed only in his flannel pajama bottoms. The soft glow from his prosthetic arm gives Shiro’s bare chest and face a soft, angelic shine. 

“The storm woke us,” Keith explains, and Shiro nods, leaning in to push Keith’s bangs from where they’d fallen over his forehead. Keith forgot to tie his hair the night before, which he usually does now that the baby has begun to grab at anything with length, and Keith’s hair reaches past his shoulders these days.

“She’s sleeping pretty good now though, yes?” Shiro asks, kneeling down in front of them both. His left hand cups the top of their baby’s soft round head, ruffles her puffs of purple hair. He then runs a finger along the crest of her pointy ear. “Let me put her to bed,” Shiro says quietly, smiling at Keith and the baby. Keith nods, slowly moving forward to hand her over to Shiro. 

Shiro is so careful as he takes their daughter; he’s become an expert at cupping the baby into the elbow-seat of his left arm. He rests his right prosthetic hand on Keith’s shoulder blade, massaging his cool fingers into the tight muscles there. “I’ll work on putting you to bed next,” Shiro tells Keith with a soft smile before moving over to lower their sleeping girl back into the crib. 

With sleep-heavy eyes, Keith watches them move away, his chest warm and full. He follows the soft pale glow of Shiro’s prosthetic in the dark room; he listens to his husband sing softly to their daughter as he puts her down to sleep. Keith closes his eyes, his head resting back against the rocker. Some nights he thinks about all it took to get here, all the heartache and loss and war. How everything about this kind of future felt so impossible back then. Keith remembers as a kid thinking he would never have a life that made any kind of sense. That he would be alone forever. But then Shiro happened. And Shiro had saved him. And Keith had saved Shiro. And together with the other paladins, they had saved the universe. 

Keith opens his eyes again when Shiro comes back to stand in front of him in the rocking chair. Keith looks up, and Shiro’s staring down at him, his face gone soft with affection. Shiro lowers a hand to Keith’s head, running his fingers through Keith’s wild bedhead. He feels Shiro’s hand move down to rest tenderly on the back of his neck. Just a soft touch, anchoring him like always. They stare at each other for a long moment in the dark of the nursery, and Keith always feels like in these moments they are both trying to memorize each other, imprint this memory into their minds forever. 

Keith is lulled by the warmth of Shiro’s fingers trailing along his neck, his scalp. He is undone by the touch of Shiro’s lips pressing against his temple. 

“Come to bed with me?” Shiro asks when he pulls away, staring at Keith, a small smile teasing at his lips. He runs a hand through Keith’s long hair again, curling a strand around his finger. 

Keith exhales, nods. “Definitely.”

Shiro’s prosthetic hand slides round to cup Keith’s cheek, his thumb rubbing gentle circles under his eye. “I want…” Shiro murmurs, but trails off as he presses their lips together softly. 

Keith stretches up into the kiss, raises both his hands to touch Shiro’s arms, then circles his arms around Shiro's back. With a heave Shiro lifts Keith out of the rocking chair and spins him around. And somehow they’re still kissing, hot and wet, lips tingling, tongues mingling, noses squishing, and arms wrapping around each other as Shiro walks them down the hallway back to their bedroom.

Even after all these years, Keith has never grown tired of kissing Shiro, slowly mapping out the inside of his mouth. Kisses that feel like _I love you_ , _I’d die for you_ , _I’d travel to the ends of the universe to find you_. Kisses that feel like flying non-stop across the desert with your best friend beside you, or the escape velocity of a deep-space shuttle launching out into the solar system, or…well, all the ridiculous things Keith thinks about when Shiro’s in his arms. He’s never tired of the soft wet noises of their mouths moving, the rustle of their bodies drawing close, the heat of their shared breaths. Kissing Shiro is life-changing.

Before Keith knows it, they’re back in their room. He shivers and breaks the kiss as Shiro plops them both onto the bed, the mattress bouncing and creaking under their combined weight. Keith curls his hands around Shiro’s neck, places his forehead against Shiro’s and laughs softly as he says, “Carrying me to bed?”

“You can carry me next time,” Shiro says, sliding his body down beside Keith. They curl close together, legs entwining, arms wrapping around each other. 

The storm outside had slackened off a bit, and a soft light spills from a reading lamp in the corner, giving the room a dreamy, early morning feel. They’re lying down on top of an old patchwork bedspread that used to belong to Keith’s dad, and before that to his grandparents. Even though Keith never knew them, he’s still happy to have some connection to that side of his family with the few items he was able to salvage after his father’s death. 

Keith and Shiro’s home is a combination of items gifted to them after their wedding and what they were able to find at local post-war bartering markets. The post-Galra Earth is still rebuilding itself, and there are not as many places to splurge on fancy home furnishings these days, so both he and Shiro had learned some basic woodworking as they fixed up the house. They had somehow managed to build bookshelves and a dining room table out of salvaged wood, and most of their other furniture had been pieces gotten second-hand — giving their home an eclectic, motley feel.

The bed they share is old but comfortable; the sheets are soft and warm and grey, smelling like their floral-scented detergent. Their leather jackets spill over the couch in the corner, and Shiro’s Garrison textbooks are piled haphazardly on the wooden dresser. Shiro has taken to placing house plants around the house, and there are a couple of ivies curling their leaves around the window frame, and a succulent or two sitting beside telescopes and electronic devices.

This is how you patch together a home, Keith thinks. Everything is a little dusty and lived in, a little aged and broken-in. But to Keith it’s perfect. It’s here that he and Shiro are at their most naked, relearning each other in rough tumbles and blanket fumblings. It’s here that Keith has kissed lines across Shiro’s chest, written his love into the honey-shine of his scarred skin.

Even now, everything thrums in this low light, this low heat of homemaking. Keith brushes his tongue against Shiro’s lips, into the slick warm textures of his mouth. Shiro pulls Keith close and rocks their hips together, trapping the heat between them. Shiro’s left hand glides along Keith’s flank as Keith trails his own hands across Shiro’s strong shoulders, slipping down and across Shiro’s back, mapping the shape of the muscle with his palms. 

“I thought we were gonna sleep?” Keith teases softly, his lips brushing across Shiro’s perfect collarbone.

“I never said anything about sleeping, only about bringing you back to bed,” Shiro says, pushing his left hand into Keith’s hair, tugging at his locks playfully. 

“Ah, spoken like a true intergalactic diplomat. Words so carefully chosen,” Keith says on a pleased huff, pulling Shiro closer and taking his mouth in another messy kiss. His mouth is so hot, the wet inside of it catching at the swell of Keith’s lower lip before Keith sucks gently at the outer curve.

They’re not wearing that much clothing, so it only takes a few moments for both of them to undress, pajamas kicked to the floor in a confusion of limbs as they rid themselves of any remaining barriers between them. 

Keith loves the strength in Shiro’s thighs as Shiro climbs on top of him, loves the hot press of Shiro’s cock against his stomach. They slide together, bodies naked and warm, and the groans Shiro makes, these greedy, needy noises that only Keith gets to hear now, are more than anything Keith ever dreamed up in his wildest teenage fantasies about Shiro. Keith pulls Shiro close, cradles him naked between his thighs, kisses him because he can. Shiro means the world to him: _best friend, husband, goddamn love of his crazy life_.

“Can I taste you?” Shiro whispers the question against Keith’s lips, his prosthetic hand rolling hot over the smooth skin of Keith’s torso, coming to rest just above Keith’s thickening cock. 

Keith moans his approval, a smile spreading across his face as he lies back naked on the bed, stretching out on his back. Shiro eases Keith’s legs apart as he moves to kneel between them. He looks up into Keith’s eyes, holding the connection as he kisses the dip of Keith’s belly button, then runs his soft lips along the curve of Keith’s left hipbone and presses a kiss there. 

Keith pushes his head deep into the pillow, relaxes his body, and spreads his legs wider. Letting Shiro in is as easy as breathing, maybe the easiest thing he’s ever done in his entire life — being this naked for Shiro, this open to him, this ready for him. So ready to receive anything he’s giving. 

Shiro steadies himself on his knees above Keith, meets his eyes with a softness that makes Keith ache. Shiro then takes a long moment to suck on the fingers of his left human hand, pulling his index and middle finger deep into his mouth, drawing them in like they’re a delicious popsicle. Keith feels a sort of temporary insanity watching Shiro do this, watching him thrust his fingers in and out of his mouth slowly, watching the spit drizzle down between the crook of his thumb, into his palm, slicking his entire hand. 

Keith gets hard just watching, but he doesn’t have long to fantasize about those fingers, because the reality is so much better. When Shiro’s slick fingers finally press inside him, thick and blunt and fucking relentless, Keith digs his own fingers into Shiro’s broad shoulders and groans into the pillow, knowing he has to keep quiet. 

Shiro breaks Keith open with sharp expertise, spit-slicked fingers pressing in and stroking deep, over and over, the burn and the heat of it driving Keith close to the brink. _Too soon_ , Keith thinks, breathing steadily through his nose, trying to control the sounds he’s making, but his own attention is drawn back to the flick and twist of Shiro’s hand as another spit-slick finger slides inside him, filling him that little more. 

Shiro fucks his fingers into Keith slowly, twisting, and pulling gasping curses from him. Keith feels like his heart might freaking stop, it’s pounding so hard, but then Shiro leans over him, licks a path across Keith’s belly, his slightly-stubbled chin brushing against the wiry hair at the base of Keith’s cock. Shiro smiles up at Keith before his tongue slicks a wet line directly from base to tip. 

Keith’s back arches off the mattress, this first touch so damn overwhelming — he’s on fire, he’s about to take off, but then Shiro’s tongue slides down his length again, flicking across the bead of pre-come collecting at the eye. Keith swallows hard, heart ratcheting, face flushing, his legs spreading even further apart. _More_.

Shiro flicks his gaze up towards Keith, looking into his eyes as he leans in to lap at the head of Keith’s cock again. Keith gasps at the wet heat, his hips twitching insistently. Shiro moans around the taste of him, curling his tongue and flicking the tip of it back and forth across the slit. Keith has to close his eyes because watching Shiro suck him off is like watching a freaking star explode, _too much, too much, too much_. The combined feel of Shiro’s warm mouth and the push of his fingers, wrenches something from inside of Keith, brings him to the edge of his own already-tattered control. 

“Please,” Keith pants out as Shiro presses the tip of his tongue up underneath the base of Keith’s cock, lapping at his balls, spit drooling. When Keith dares to open his eyes to look down at his husband at work, he’s met with Shiro’s shiny-lipped grin as he raises his head again before lowering it to suck Keith’s cock into his mouth completely, grey eyes locked on Keith the entire time. 

_Fuck, fuck, fuck_. Keith groans, low and throaty, body lit up from the inside, rocking forward on Shiro’s fingers, pressing into his mouth. Shiro hums around Keith’s cock as it nudges the back of his throat, and he’s taking Keith so fucking deep that Keith shouts out, hips bucking up into that tight, wet, perfect incredible mouth. Shiro’s fingers pull free from Keith’s ass just as he screws his tight lips around Keith’s base, nuzzling his nose against Keith’s pubic hair, then pulling off with a long, hard pop.

For a moment Keith wants to fucking kill him, goddamn tease of a perfect human being. Shiro’s lips are bruised, pink and wet, and he looks completely debauched, his shining half-lidded eyes watching Keith expectantly. But then Shiro smiles, almost shyly when he says, “Got to be real quiet for this next part,” before bowing his head to lick a sloppy trail up Keith’s cock one more time.

“ _Sonofabitch_ ,” Keith whimpers, dropping his head back to his pillow and turning to glance at the baby monitor. She’s still sleeping, good, good. They've got this. They’re responsible parents. Really.

Keith’s quickly distracted again as Shiro’s mouth trails away from his cock, slipping lower, trailing wetness, and bathing Keith’s balls in an electric heat that curls from his belly down to the tip of his toes. Shiro’s tongue dips further, sliding against Keith’s perineum, and Keith hisses at the unexpected contact, jerks up a little, heart dropping into his guts. Keith tries not to smack Shiro with his hips, but it’s so damn hard to control himself as Shiro starts stroking his tongue across that too-sensitive skin. Shiro’s bending so low, his head so deep between Keith’s legs, smearing Keith completely with his spit, now dripping down over his hole. 

When Shiro pulls away, Keith feels like he’s going to scream, but Shiro’s wet, puffy mouth twitches up into a smirk and then he’s pulling both of Keith’s legs over his shoulders and diving back down. The next swipe of Shiro’s tongue over Keith’s hole is show-stoppingly perfect — so liquid hot, so precise, and so assured that Keith wants to fucking cry. 

Keith’s pulse pounds thick and strong between his legs, taut nerves firing throughout his body. Keith winds his legs tighter around Shiro’s shoulders, holding on for dear life as both of Shiro’s firm hands move to curve under Keith’s asscheeks, lifting him up, holding him steady as he works his tongue back and forth, slick and heavy. His licks are so strong and firm against Keith’s sensitive hole that Keith gives up on any attempts at keeping quiet. He reaches out and twists the sheets in his hands, completely desperate as Shiro laps at his hole, sending Keith keening.

“Gotta keep it down,” Shiro says, pulling up and laughing throatily. He presses a bite to the soft skin on the inside of Keith’s thigh.

“Dammit, Shiro,” Keith growls out in response, thumping his head against the bed. His voice is rough and broken, breathless as he promises, “I’m so gonna get back at you.”

“Can’t wait,” Shiro murmurs, but he’s already pushing down again, and Keith bites his lip and squeezes his eyes shut to make it through. 

It’s a slow kind of death, really, when Shiro finally shoves his tongue inside. Keith tries to hold still, but he just wants to push himself down onto that warm, snaking thickness; it's all too much and not nearly enough. Shiro slides his tongue in a gentle circle, mouthing at the thin skin surrounding Keith’s hole. Keith knows he must be making some stupid sounds into his pillow, but he forces his thighs further apart, angling his hips up to bare himself completely to Shiro. 

For what could have been long minutes or even hours, Shiro works Keith open with his strong tongue, pushing inside, tasting him, eating him out like it’s his goddamn birthright. Making all kinds of obscene sloppy noises and sucking sounds, and leaving Keith’s body in its own personal heaven. Eventually Keith can’t hold back anymore, pushes his ass even further onto Shiro’s insistent tongue, and Shiro seems to welcome it, spreading Keith’s asscheeks even wider and going to town. 

Keith thinks maybe he passes out at some point because his head gets real fuzzy, the room goes dimmer. He’s so delirious, so ridiculously turned on, but then he feels it: Shiro’s cock, large and blood-thick, pushing inside of him, that perfect burn and hefty weight. Keith actually has to reach for a pillow and place it over his mouth to shout out his need.

“Keith?” Shiro says on a quiet exhale of breath, stretching over him and letting his fingers slide against Keith’s arms to check in on him. He presses a gentle kiss onto Keith’s chest and asks, “You doing okay there, buddy?”

“Yeah, come on Shiro, just keep going,” Keith breathes out the command, his voice cracking as he lifts his knees up just enough to ease some of the pressure between them. Shiro chuckles, but gets back to work, pushing in harder, further, rooting deeper. Everything inside Keith’s body reacts — Keith’s heart beats out of his chest, his blood throbs though his veins, his soul soars forward to meet Shiro. His body recognizes Shiro on every level, down to his atoms, and it needs Shiro like Keith needs air to breathe.

“Ahh, Shiro, god, yeah, come on,” Keith encourages on a long, shaky exhale. He hears it then, the storm outside raging — it must have come back in full force while they were lost in each other. The rain clatters against the windows, thunder rumbles in like an encouragement, the full force of nature breaking over them. Keith wants to laugh, because in one way or another, the heavens have always been apart of their love story. 

A roll of thunder shakes them both into action, and Shiro thrusts in deeper, takes Keith’s breath away in one long glide. Then those cool prosthetic fingers wrap around Keith’s cock, jerking him nice and steady as he begins to thrust his hips with real intent. Keith’s whole body bucks up, meeting Shiro, and Keith’s already so ready to split in two, so ready to come undone. He tries to keep himself together though, arching and twisting, pushing forward, lost to Shiro’s thrusting cock and stroking hand.

“You’re beautiful…” Shiro breathes out, pausing to press his forehead onto Keith’s shoulder, moving inside of Keith with a perfect rhythm, his body so sleekly curled around him, rippling with power. He works Keith’s cock with lazy rolls of his prosthetic, and Keith has to bite his lip so he won’t scream, won’t beg for more.

“You’re so good to me,” Keith whispers instead, clutching blindly at the sheets, the room spinning madly around him. Keith wills himself to listen to the soft, breathy noises Shiro makes against his collarbone, the sounds slowly grounding him. 

“Love you so much,” Shiro says on a shattered whisper, and Keith can tell by its reed-thin sound how close Shiro is; can read it in his body’s ratcheting tension.

“Love you too,” Keith manages, legs clinging tighter around Shiro’s waist. “It’s okay, Shiro, come on, I got you, it’s okay—” 

Shiro pulls out and fucks in a little harder, picking up the pace, and Keith cries out as the force of his next set of thrusts shifts them both higher on the bed, rucking up the sheets around them, sending the bed groaning and creaking beneath them. Everything blurs in an instant, and suddenly they’re traveling at hyper-speed, lost among the stars. Shiro thrusts one more time, his back snapping taut, and then with a beat he’s coming inside of Keith, thick and fast and wet, pulse and after pulse. Keith clenches even tighter around Shiro’s cock, holding him in. Shiro shudders through the aftershocks, and Keith presses kisses against his forehead, runs his hands along his sweat-slick back, guides him through the comedown.

It only takes one more twist of Shiro’s prosthetic hand around Keith’s cock before Keith’s following Shiro into perfect oblivion. He doesn’t know if it’s actual thunder or a separate roaring in his head, but everything gets real loud when he comes, like the storm is surging from inside of him this time — every muscle in his body spasming, lights sparking behind his tightly-shut eyes. His orgasm breaks over him like a tidal wave, and he’s spilling thick over his chest and into the space between their bodies.

Keith turns his head into his pillow, gasps for breath; he still sees light everywhere. Shiro makes a warm, tired whine above him, and the sound pulls at Keith’s entire being. They’re both boneless now but continue moving together, going slow, so slow. Their bodies slick together where they’re still joined, their flesh sticky and wet. 

Keith murmurs into Shiro’s skin — a soft movement of his lips, his words falling over Shiro in tangled little phrases like _thank you_ , _I love you_ , _you’re amazing_. Shiro’s breathing slows and he hums in response, dropping soft little kisses along Keith’s neck, tangling his fingers in Keith’s messy hair. 

Keith feels his world take shape around him. Bedroom, husband, a stormy dawn. He’s tacky, filthy, with an ache in his limbs and Shiro draped heavy and warm over him. Lightning flashes, illuminating the entire room, and for a brief moment their entwined bodies shimmer in the afterglow. 

They eventually pry themselves apart with a lot of effort, collapsing face first into the pillows at their side. Keith laughs wearily, turns his head to look toward the baby monitor because they hadn’t heard a peep since they put their girl to sleep. He smiles wide and says, “Amazing.”

“What?” Shiro mumbles, half of his face smooshed into his pillow. He’s all sleepy doe-eyes and a satisfied smile. They’re both exhausted, but in that good, fucked-out kind of way.

Keith explains, “Our kid just slept through the rest of the storm _and_ you making me scream like a banshee. Repeatedly. This has been a week of parental milestones.”

Shiro snorts, leans closer to plant a soft kiss on Keith’s shoulder. “Guess this means we can make round two happen before morning feeding?” 

“You’re insatiable,” Keith teases softly. “You’re lucky you’re already my husband, because otherwise I’d have to ask you to marry me.”

“Not if I asked you first,” Shiro murmurs into Keith’s neck, arm circling his waist. They roll into the middle of their creaky mattress, kick at the bedspread until they’re both covered, and they just hold on to each other for the longest time, listening to the storm roll on outside, rattling their old window frames, blessing their home in some kind of earthly baptism. The garden won’t need watering at least, Keith thinks, but they should probably make sure there are no new puddles in the attic. They still need to patch the roof.

Shiro presses even closer to him, and as if Shiro’s thoughts are on the same wavelength as Keith’s (which is a possibility), he sleepily murmurs something about buying more mulch and cloth baby diapers. Keith wants to laugh, but he’s too tired. They’re two of a kind, and for a couple of scarred warriors, they’ve become strangely domestic. Keith closes his eyes, breathes it all in. His husband, his daughter, their home. He hums them a lullaby to ease them back to sleep, and outside, softer now, the rain keeps falling.

 

 

 

 

\- fin -

**Author's Note:**

> Another offering to the porn gods before we cross the finish line into S8. May S8 bring us good things for Sheith! Catch me crying about them anytime [here](https://patienceyields.tumblr.com/).


End file.
